


The Last True Dragon

by Season_8_But_Better



Series: A Redo of Season 8 [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daenerys ain't alright, Daenerys regrets, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Insanity, Mental Instability, Minor Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Season 8 Spoilers, Season 8 but better though, Suicide, or at least someone else has written it amirite ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Season_8_But_Better/pseuds/Season_8_But_Better
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen had said she didn't plan on being Queen of the ashes. Yet here she was. Queen of a capital that was little more than ash.""You took the city," Jon said, an echo of their previous conversation. "I wanted to save it, not take it. The people aren't free, they're dead.""





	The Last True Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> And it is already time for chapter 2, my gays. Now with some romance and now just straight angst and anger.  
It is a bit longer than the previous one, was also written in one night so probably worse. Who cares. A different kind of work (greek mythology related woop) might go up if y'all should be interested. Lemme know.  
Until then enjoy whatever it is I've written.

Daenerys looked over what was now _her_ burning city, and the stone turned in her stomach. She looked up. The sky wasn't meant to be so dark. It wasn't meant to rain ashes on her coronation day. Her shoulders tensed as he cautiously stepped up beside her. Even he seemed scared of her. Figures. Of course, The White Wolf would tremble before a dragon.

"You did it," Jon Snow said quietly, so only the two of them could hear. "Kings Landing is yours."

Daenerys' jaw tightened; eyes still set on the rooftops of the capital. "It doesn't feel like mine," she confessed. She turned, meeting his eyes. The stone in her stomach tightened, imploded. He looked so incredibly sad.

"My quarters," Daenerys ordered, turning towards the entrance to the Red Keep, before realizing she didn't know where her quarters were.

Jon seemed to realize the same.

"The throne room, my Queen?"

She wanted to yell at him for being forthright. The sight of him staring into the open smoldering mouth of the last dragon flashed before her eyes.

"The throne room," Daenerys agreed with a slight nod, before leaving. 

Jon Snow was already waiting in the throne room when Daenerys finally arrived. An apology for being late was brewing on her tongue, but her lips remained sealed as she approached. He bowed lightly. She hated how it pleased her.

"My Queen," he greeted, straightening his back.

"Jon," she said, hoping the familiar tone would help the tenseness of his shoulders. It didn't.

"You took the city," Jon said, an echo of their previous conversation.

"I wanted to save it, not take it. The people aren't free, they're dead."

Daenerys paced the floor of the throne room, the Iron Throne burning in her peripheral.

"I'm sure you thought it was the right choice-."

Daenerys cut him off, her voice small. Like the child that was sold off to a big and scary Khal, not the voice of the woman that had just conquered the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I did it because I was angry. About Missandei, about my birthright being stripped from me, about you... being who you are."

Daenerys stopped in front of him, toying with one of the rings on her fingers.

"It was a selfish and destructive decision. A decision taken in a moment of madness. Not clarity. Not heroics. Madness."

"You are not your father," Jon said sternly, stepping closer and placing a hand on her arm.

Daenerys longed for him to lay it on her cheek instead. Either hard or gently, she didn't care.

"What if this is the beginning of the end?" Daenerys asked, finally looking up at Jon.

He could still recognize the fire in her eyes. But just because it was strong, didn't mean it wasn't flickering.

"I know I'm not my father," she continued. "I'm scared I'll be worse than him. That I already am."

Jon sighed, ignoring her resistance and pulling her in for a hug. Daenerys felt stiff against his chest.

"No one can be worse than the Mad King. Especially not you. You've freed thousands of slaves in the East. Those are the actions of a goodhearted Queen. Not a mad one."

Jon’s lips rested against her hair, as if he thought he could mumble sense straight through her skull. Daenerys’ voice was thick with tears, when she finally responded.

“My father only threatened with burning down the city. I was the one who carried out the threat.”

Both the King in the North and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms fell quiet. They both knew why the Mad King had never gotten to be the one to carry out the threat. Because of a man with blonde hair and golden armor. Because of a man who took it upon himself to carry out justice and was hated for it. A man with a bloody sword, accused guilty by the man who had raised Jon Snow as if he were his own bastard. Daenerys pulled back, reestablishing the distance that had grown between them. She wiped her tears, straightened her back and turned to look at the absent wall behind the Iron Throne.

“You will be called Queen slayer. You will be hated. Grey Worm will probably want to execute you on sight.”

A warm smile danced on her lips as she walked towards the Iron Throne. The symbol of power over the Sevens Kingdoms. The throne she had dreamed of since she was a child. She reached out, resting a hand on the handle of one of the swords. A gaping hole of power hunger opened in the pit of her stomach, threatening to swallow her whole. All it took was for her to sit. She could take what was rightfully Jon’s, right in front of him. Take what he insisted he didn’t want. Every fiber in her being was pleading her to sit and rule. The same pull that had pulled her across the Narrow Sea vibrated throughout her entire being. Yet she removed her hand from the sword handle reluctantly and set her eyes forward. Through the blood rushing in her ears, she could hear Jon calling her name. She didn’t stop until her toes met the edge of the wall, and she was staring down into a flaming abyss. The flames wouldn’t kill her. The fall definitely would. She imagined the sound of the air wising around her as she fell, the feeling of flying though not on the back of a dragon. The feeling of flames engulfing her, a final embrace before hitting the ground. Before darkness? Before Heaven? Before Hell?

Jon’s words didn’t cut through her daze until he grabbed her arm and spun her to look at him.

“Dany, this is madness.” Daenerys couldn’t agree more. Which was exactly shy she needed to do this.

“You are not your father,” Jon repeated. “You will not be worse than him. You might have his blood, but your mind is your own.”

Jon grabbed her face in both his hands and kissed her, trying desperately to say all the things he couldn’t. All the selfish reasons for why he didn’t want her to do this. Daenerys’ arms hang limp by her side, as she let herself be kissed. She knew, oh God did she know, and her chest ached, but it was her madness that was begging her to stay. Giving into Jon meant giving in to that darkness too. That wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

“Jon…,” she sighed against his lips, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him away.

He was crying. So was she.

“The White Wolf. Jon snow, Aegon Targaryen. The bastard of Winterfell, the King in the North. I’m not the only one with many titles it would seem.”

Daenerys laughed softly; her voice full of sorrow. Her hand was still on his chest. She could take him down with her. Destroy the last traces of the Targaryen race with a single step in the right direction. She could hear guards approaching in the distance and she retracted her hand from his chest. Jon Snow had survived being a traitor once. He could survive it again.

“Goodbye, Jon.”

Her voice echoed through the throne room as she took a simple step to the left. Jon’s cries followed her all the way down till her head hit the concrete and painted the broken capital with royal red. It wasn’t as magical as flying on a dragon. Not as graceful as she had expected. Gravity didn’t favor royalty it seemed.

Jon was shaking. Staring down at the flames, waiting desperately for her dragon to fly her our of the fire and back to him. He waited. And he waited. The seconds dragging by as the guards got closer and closer. She wasn’t coming back. His Queen was gone, and he had been ordered to take the blame, despite having tried to save her from herself. The door was pushed open behind him and Grey Worm yelled out orders in a language Jon didn’t understand. Jon had heard the story so many timed from Ned. He knew it by heart by now. How his father had kicked down the door, and taken down the Kingslayer as he stood there, bloodied sword in hand. Jon never thought he would have to live that story. Especially not from this perspective.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, prompts and critiscism will be greatly appreciated.  
My comments are open, but you can also slide into my Twitter dms at S8_But_Better.


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